I Still Believe in Heroes
by Sophia the Scribe
Summary: A collection of drabbles and short stories, mainly surrounding the Avengers and their families and friends. (no slash) Ch4: The time given. Ch5: Why does Laura's phone still work?
1. The Avengers

Disclaimer for the collection: Marvel owns the rights to all recognizable characters and circumstances described in "I Still Believe in Heroes."

* * *

Triple Drabble.

* * *

I Still Believe in Heroes.

* * *

The captain out of time who jumps on a grenade, crashes a plane, lays down on a wire to let his comrades cross. The broken genius who rebuilds himself with blood and fire and iron, who takes the one-way trip and yet returns. The thunder god who proves his worth by knowing the worth of others, who sacrifices his dearest desires to save his worst enemies.

The brilliant man who is also a monster, who learns how to live with being both. The scarred woman who is also a killer, who regrets the red in her ledger. The father who holds both family and team close to his heart, balances the protection of one with the preservation of the other.

The brother and sister who choose for themselves to reject vengeance and be heroes. The artificial intelligence, created of science and faith and power, seeking his place in the world that he knows so well yet not at all. Two soldiers, men who conquer gravity and take to the skies, comrades loyal to opponents in a tragic divide.

The best friend, brainwashed through fear and pain, restored through the love and care of his friends and allies. The trickster, loyal to one side then to another, who will not stand by as his brother is killed.

The noble king who learns from his and his father's mistakes, who stands with his country to defend an unknowing world. The boy endowed with great power who accepts its implicit responsibility. The arrogant man who learns his own insignificance, who sees with clarity and holds the burdens of an entire world, an entire universe.

 _To these I look, and in all I see courage, humility, selflessness. I see lessons learned and wrongs righted. And my response is certain:_

 _I still believe in heroes._

* * *

A/N: Welcome to this new set of Superhero-genre drabbles and shorts! If you've read my "Only a Moment" collection over in the Batman archive, you'll recognize the format and story types. If not, you'll learn soon enough the eclectic mix of character studies, motive analyses, and writing experiments that take up these chapters. In either case, I hope you enjoy!

VDMA,  
Sophia the Scribe


	2. Doctor Strange

Double Drabble.

* * *

The bill comes due.

* * *

"You think there will be no consequences, no price to pay?"

The remembered words echo, and he closes his eyes. His teeth clench. His fingernails draw blood on his palms.

He sees the spear-heads through his heart, the spray of burst arteries. He smells the acrid stench of his flesh burning, tastes the iron tang of his blood. He feels every sickening crack of his shattering bones. Dormammu is clever—sometimes he is left alone until he dies of thirst. Sometimes he is tortured beyond mere pain, until he can sense nothing but the echoing snarls of Dormammu's rage. Sometimes he fights on and on and on, every block and strike fainter and feebler until he collapses from exhaustion. Sometimes he uses the extra time as a gift, honing skills and perfecting techniques in this unique chance to practice fighting to the death. But sometimes he doesn't even raise a shield, merely stating his oft-repeated line before waiting, once again, for the end and the beginning.

"The bill always comes due," Mordo had said.

But within his own mind, desperate in the anguish of a hundred lives, a thousand deaths, Stephen cannot help but cry,

 _Have I not already paid?_


	3. Captain Rogers

Drabble-and-a-half.

* * *

A lonely memorial.

* * *

In the pre-dawn grey of a certain November morning, Steve Rogers remembers.

It is not the day recorded in museum exhibits, history textbooks, and website infographics, when the army finalized the paperwork and announced the official roster for Captain America's elite team. That day is insignificant: the Howling Commandos were not formed by Colonel Phillips or Senator Brandt or President Roosevelt, signatures of great men in indelible ink on expensive paper. No, their brotherhood was written in scars, in blood.

They were forged through the fear and hope of a daring rescue, bound through stench and sweat on a victorious march, sealed in a war-torn bar in Europe, when men who barely knew his name chose to follow him into the jaws of death.

He raises his glass. The brandy sparkles like amber in the first ray of sunlight.

"To the Howling Commandos," says the Captain, and drains his glass.


	4. Pepper Potts and Doctor Strange

Double-drabble-and-a-half.

* * *

The time given.

* * *

The funeral was over. The Avengers were scattered throughout the house and yard in small clusters, speaking in low voices of regrets for the past or hopes for the future. Morgan was safe in Happy's care, and Pepper was standing, alone, at the edge of the lake.

Slow footsteps approached behind her, and she turned to see Doctor Strange, sober and surprisingly down-to-earth in his black suit.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing. She nodded and moved over on the pier, turning back toward the water. A gentle breeze blew ripples on the surface, lapping it gently onto the shore.

"He was a good man," Strange said finally, turning halfway towards her, voice deep with grief. "I wish there had been another way. I'm sorry."

"I know," she replied, smiling a little, turning to face him. "He told me. Of course I wish it were different, but…Doctor," she laid a hand on his arm, willing him to see her sincerity, "You gave us another chance. Five years…we could live a life. Morgan could know her father. You gave us that. I don't blame you for the ending. I just…I'm glad we had our chance. Thank you." She dropped her hand and turned away, whispering to the water, "And I meant what I said. Tony can finally rest, and we'll…we'll be alright." She swallowed.

Doctor Strange said, lowly, "He loved you. In every universe, he loved you."

"Yes." Pepper looked up into the sky, blinking back sudden tears. "He did. Three thousand."


	5. Clint and Laura Barton

Pair of Triple Drabbles.

* * *

Why does Laura's phone work?

* * *

The November air is chill in the pre-dawn light. Laura hugs her coat tighter around her and clenches her jaw, blinking in the sharp wind.

Clint hefts the last duffle bag into the trunk of the nondescript car; he'll drive to his bunker where the SHIELD quinjet will pick him up. After that, to Laura, everything is uncertain: she knows neither what Clint's mission is nor where it will be nor even how long it will take.

Clint walks back to the porch, his footsteps silent and his stride smooth, already slipping back into the mindset of the dangerous and skilled agent that he had largely shed for their wedding and the too-short honeymoon leave. He lifts his hand, gently stroking her cheek with rough, calloused knuckles. She swallows, forcing her lips to a tremulous smile. Neither speak; all their words were spent in the dark of the night, where love and passion and sorrow and fear were freely expressed.

But now she is sending him off, and she will do it bravely.

He nods, turns, and steps off the porch. Then he pauses, profile just highlighted in the glare of the headlights, hand gripping the railing with too much force.

"Laura…" his voice is low and controlled, but his words far from smooth. "If I…if it doesn't…I mean…" he stops, and she hears him breath out, hard. Then his mouth quirks up on one side in some taut parody of his usual cocky grin. "Just don't forget to pay the cell phone bill, alright?"

And he strides to the car, gets in the driver's seat, and drives away, all without looking back. Laura waves anyway, until the car is out of sight.

(Then she blindly stumbles back into the house and slides to the floor. Now she can cry.)

* * *

The world ends, and Clint leaves the farm, expecting to never return. He's an agent, an assassin—one of the best in the world. (Actually, he might be the best in the world, now. Did Natasha survive? He doesn't know. He doesn't think on it.) He can still be that. There was a time (before Laura—he doesn't think on that, either) when he did nothing but globetrot, mission following mission, shedding personas and bolt holes with the same lack of compunction.

He can go back to that.

And if he'll be calling his own shots rather than following SHIELD's orders—well, SHIELD turned out to be HYDRA anyway. Clearly Clint is better on his own.

(Laura would disagree. She would tell him to go to the Avengers compound, see who is still alive. Find Natasha, the closest thing he has left to family. Grieve. And maybe, eventually, find a way to move on. But Clint doesn't think on that.)

He methodically sets everything in order at the farm, packing personal belongings in boxes, canceling services and autopay bills, unthinking, unfeeling—until the cell phone provider.

His fist tightens; his hand shakes. His teeth clench, and he breaths out, sharply.

(In the end, he cancels all plans but Laura's, sets hers to the cheapest option available, and leaves it connected to his consolidated emergency bank account. He digs her phone out of one of the boxes, programs in his new, untraceable number, and leaves it on the kitchen counter, turned off but plugged in to one of his emergency solar-powered chargers.)

He finishes setting everything in order, secures the house, and drives away.

And he despises himself for his weakness.

(But Laura's phone remains functional—and five years and a journey through hell later, his phone rings with her number.)


End file.
